And she says his name
by modernlifehistorian
Summary: She says his name all through history. And it means something different every time.


" _ **Names are the sweetest and most important sound in any language."**_

 _ **-Dale Carnegie**_

There are few things a man hears more in his life than his name. Wyatt Logan is the exception to that. His father rarely referred to him as anything other than "boy," in the military every person was addressed by a plethora of names, but very rarely their given name, and even Jessica most often just called him 'babe,' reserving 'Wyatt' only for when she was upset. By the time he walked into Mason Industries, the Master Sergeant had become uncomfortable being called by his first name. That all changed very quickly. Lucy Preston changed him very quickly.

 **1934**

"Wyatt," she whispers desperately as this maniac holds a gun to her head. She is scared, obviously, but he can't tell what she's trying to communicate by saying his name. Does she want him to shoot or no? This bastard for some reason believes Wyatt isn't going to shoot, but what other choice does he have? He takes a breath, trusts his ability, and shoots the guy, Flynn, right in the shoulder. He flings Lucy to the ground, and Wyatt dodges just in time to avoid taking a bullet as well. Kate isn't so lucky. She falls and dies right there with Wyatt holding her, pleading that she hang on. Lucy doesn't look at him as if he were crazy for being in so much anguish over this woman's death. She looks at him with great concern and understanding and allows him to stay there for a moment to process his emotions. He doesn't understand her. Not yet.

* * *

"Hey," Lucy calls him back. "When you shot Flynn back there… a couple inches to the right and you would've blown my brains out. Are you really that good, or was I just that expendable?" If he is being honest with himself, he isn't really sure. His mission objective had been a blinder for him in many instances, but he certainly wasn't subjecting her life to his recklessness.

"I guess I'm just that good," he shrugs. Whether that was the correct answer or not, they would find out together.

 **1962**

"Wyatt." She calls after him a little too sternly for his current taste. He isn't in the mood for a "let's not change history" lecture or whatever it was she has to say. Yeah, he has been being an ass to her and Rufus, but what do they know about what he has gone through? What he is still going through? If he has a chance to change what he has done and get Jessica back, he is damn well going to take it. Screw the historical consequences.

"I know what you're going to say." He tells her, hoping it will save them both from this conversation.

"No you don't," she approaches him gently. "Look. I understand… I would do anything to get my sister back." Well now he really feels like an ass… because she does understand. Her little sister had been ripped from existence because of them failing to stop Flynn before he could change things. He looks at her differently.

"Look, I'm sorry about before," he apologizes. "I get that it's your job, keeping history the way it's meant to be. But I don't believe in "meant to be"s though… or fate… or anything like that, and if you knew how Jess died…" he shakes his head. "You would know there is no such thing. It's all just dumb luck and random chance. Just a roll of the dice." She looks ready to say something, but Rufus comes running up, mumbling about some Christy Pitt, and Wyatt is relieved. He doesn't know what she had been prepared to say, but he knows he probably isn't ready to hear it. Someday, maybe, but not yet.

 **1836**

"Wyatt!" she summons him out from his Syria flashback, and he's never been more grateful to see her. He touches her to make sure she's real. "Rufus did it! There's a way out!" She begins tugging at this arms, trying to pull him towards their escape. "Come on, let's go!" But when he looks over and sees this kid, John, trapped here, about to die, he knows he can't leave. He's done it once. He will not do it again.

She almost runs them straight into gunfire, so he pulls her back just in time, and covers her body with is. "We have to go. Now," she explains. But as he sees men fall all around them, his mind is made. "Wyatt?" she calls to him. "Wyatt." She won't understand.

"I'm not going," he states, and the anguish in her eyes is almost enough to make him change his mind. Almost.

"What? No. What do you mean?"

"You don't need me," he justifies. "They're gettin' rid of me anyway, right?"

"You can't stay here; everyone dies." As if he doesn't know it. As if he doesn't want it.

"No, I know," he tells her. "I can't leave good men like this, not again." She overheard his story. He hopes she'll understand and make this easier on him. He comes up from behind the barricade and takes another shot.

"No," she denies him. "No, Wyatt." He's never heard her speak so firmly.

"What difference does it make?" he truly wonders. What difference does _he_ make? "Jessica, everyone I care about is gone." He isn't sure if he's listing the people he cares about or whether he is desperately trying to explain to his deceased wife why he is going to abandon someone else. At least this time he will be the one who dies. "Let me do one good thing." He owes them that. "Let me buy you the time to get out." He gets ready to fire again, but she pulls him back.

"What about us? We're counting on you," she says through gritted teeth, her voice wrought with emotion.

"The next guy's going to handle it." He needs her to leave because she beginning to make him want to go.

"I don't want anyone else." She forces her to face him. "I. Trust. You. You are the one that I trust. Rufus needs you. _I_ need you. Okay?" What he had done to deserve this level of comradery from Lucy and Rufus, he will never know. Even Jessica had had her fill of him eventually. But when he looks at Lucy, tears fighting against gravity, he knows he can't go through with it. They are his team.

"Get ready to run, okay?"

"Okay." She sounds relieved.

 **1754**

"Wyatt," she sighs. "I am… I am so sorry that I said Jessica's death was meant to be-"

"You don't have t-"

"I do," she concludes. "You deserve to get Jessica back." Does he? What has he done in his life that would make him so worthy? Despite the broken trust he has suffered with Lucy, she still is able to shake him up with her compassion. With her belief in him. What has he done to deserve a friend like her?

"I wish you could get Amy back to," he offers, and he means it. But they're all futile sympathies. They're about to die. "And if I could make a deal with Agent Christopher, I would." She looks at him with tears in her golden eyes. He hates seeing her like this.

"Well…" Rufus chimes in. "What's the point of having a time machine if you can't fix your regrets?"

* * *

They did it. They somehow make it out of 1754 alive. For the first time in nearly six years, Wyatt has never been so happy to know he has another day. And as he, Lucy, and Rufus laugh over the fact that they were the first aliens ever documented in North America, he understands why. He has a family again.

 **1780**

"Wyatt!" He hears it as an echo. He it hears it too late.

Lucy.

She continues to call his name through the dense woods; he doesn't know exactly why, but he knows her voice well enough by now to know that she's in trouble. She needs their help.

"Wyatt!" _Help me._

"Lucy!" _I'm coming, Lucy. Hang on._

"Wyatt!" _It's too late._

"Lucy! _No. I hear you. I'm here_ for _you. It's not too late._

But it is. By the time they reach the source of her last plea. The Mothership is vanishing, and Lucy is nowhere in sight.

"Lucy," he breathes.

 **1893**

"Wyatt?" It is muffled through thick walls, but he knows that voice anywhere. "Is that you?"

"Is that Lucy?" Rufus asks. Of course it is. She's here to save them even when he had failed to save her.

"Is Rufus with you?" He can hear her almost clearly now.

"Hey! I am!" Rufus answers.

"Man, it is good to hear your voice," he confesses.

"You too," she breathes from the other side of the wall. "Are you okay?"

"Can you get us out of here?" he asks. He is answered with an unfamiliar voice.

"You with someone?" One of Flynn's guys? A historical figure? Who was it?

"Yes, I-I brought Harry Houdini with me." Of course Lucy would have managed to find Harry Houdini. People keep saying things around him, but all Wyatt can focus on is that Lucy is on the other side of that wall. Safe. When the lock clicks and he finally sees Lucy with his own eyes, he doesn't think twice about sweeping her into his arms, tightly.

"Thank God you're alright," he whispers as a prayer.

"I'm okay," she assures him. He is too.

* * *

They scramble through this twisted excuse for a hotel, scrambling to find Lucy. He is willing to end this man's life if he fails to be honest about where the psychopath had taken their historian. But he does, and Wyatt has never run so fast in his life. When he bursts into the basement, he can't see Lucy, but he hears her.

"Wyatt!" she cries. "I'm in here." He can see the box physically moving as she thrashes against it. He knows her fear of tight spaces but also knew he has to take care of this monster.

"Rufus, get her out," he commands; his gun still locked on Holmes.

He shoots Holmes after Lucy delivers the truth of what would happen if he lived. They save goodness knows how many women. Lucy is safe and beside him.

For now, that's enough.

 **1954**

"Wyatt," Lucy pleads, turning her back on Flynn who is still holding a gun at her. "Do you trust me?" Do you trust me enough to suspend what you believe and instead put your faith in me? He hasn't said the words aloud since they were in Germany with Ian Fleming. _Yes,_ he thinks. _With my life. With everything._ He is in awe of her bravery, stepping between to guns and a bomb, telling this man on the edge of mass murder that his plan will not work, admitting that they all need to stop trying to erase their scars but instead take the time to mend them. He would never have been so brave. He fights from behind guns. Lucy fights from in front of them. No one deserves his trust more. He holds his gun up in a peace offering. With Flynn of all people. Because he trusts her.

* * *

But when she explains what she plans to do, leaving him to jump to the future without her, he waivers a bit. Not because of her, but because of Flynn.

"I _cannot_ lose you again," he whispers urgently. She needs to know that she is his rock. She is what has saved him from the abyss. But none of that comes out.

"You trusted me this long," she reminds him. "I just need you to trust me a little longer." He trusts her. He doesn't trust Flynn. But he trusts her.

"If you hurt her," he warns.

"What? You'll try to kill me again?" He doesn't appreciate the man's snark but knows he needs to get moving. The sooner they go, they sooner Lucy will be home.

"It'll be okay," she promises.

 _It has to be,_ he thinks. _I have so much I need to tell you._

Then they're gone.

 **2018**

Six weeks. Six damn weeks since Wyatt's heard her voice. He had believed his words about possibilities would be enough to tide them over until they returned from 1979, so he said his piece…

Then he let her go.

Now she's gone.

He knows she's not dead. He can feel it in every fiber of his being. But she's not here with him, and that's the biggest problem. Her voice was a beacon for him. With one word she knew how to calm him, excite him, and, honestly, scare him. Without her he was an absolute wreck, so the instant they know where she is, he doesn't hesitate to jump into the Lifeboat. Period-appropriate clothes be damned.

He is going to bring Lucy home.

* * *

She doesn't say his name much anymore, and that bothers him. Since they've been home, he can count on his fingers the number of times "Wyatt" has left her tongue. It's been a few weeks. Twice they've been centimeters away from all they wanted. Why isn't she saying his name? It would never have been a cause for him to raise questions had it not become a staple of their communication. All she needed to do was say his name, and he would know what she was implying, what she was thinking, what she was needing. But while they kept moving closer, physically, she was still holding up a glass wall between them.

 **1941**

" _Wyatt,_ " she gasps as he slides her dress to the ground, lips trailing their way down her long neck. He feels the glass that has been between them since 1918 shatter. He runs his worn hands across the skin of her back, slipping the satin piece of fabric off her shoulders and down her body. He locks his lips back onto hers as she begins to make quick work of undoing his buttons. He kisses her deeper and deeper, feeling a spark every time her tongue slides on his. The soft hands that run down his bare torso make him shiver in anticipation. Eventually he will take the time to slow things down, explore, worship every inch of her, but they have been so close to this edge for so long. All they want to do is jump.

And, man, does he fall.

He lowers her onto the pristine sheets of the guest house bed, not bothering to put them beneath the covers. Not yet. He wants to be able to see all of her. Their eyes lock for an instant; gold and blue, illuminated by the roaring of the fire. Then her head rolls back and hands cling to his shoulders as he fills her.

There's a moment where he feels like they should stay like this as close to one as two humans can become, but she begins to shift her hips against his.

"Wyatt," she moans, and it's the most addictive sound he's ever heard. In a desperate attempt to hear it again, he begins to move, hoping to bring her more of that pleasure.

He's a little surprised with how naturally they move together, but with how well they work together in the field, he shouldn't be. They meet each other's movements, lips always finding each other at the right moment, and their breathing is aligned.

"Wyatt," she whimpered. "Faster." Her legs push a little harder on his hips, keeping his thrusts short and quick. He can't help but laugh.

"What?" she asks breathlessly and a little frustrated. He presses another hard kiss to her mouth and hums against her lips.

"Should've known you'd be bossy in bed, too," he smirks, and she laughs. God, he loves her laugh. But they quickly turn into sharp breaths as he picks up his pace even more, his own release rapidly building.

She yells his name out as she comes, and the sound is just enough to push him over the edge. He falls gently on top of her, blanketing her body with his and her name leaves his lips in a ragged breath.

* * *

"Wyatt!" she giggles, freaking _giggles,_ as he wraps his arms around her from behind while they're trying to get dressed and begins to plant kisses all over her shoulders and neck. He swears it is the most beautiful sound he's ever heard. They have the exchange at 10, and they still need to steal different clothes, but they have two hours. Wyatt can think of plenty of things to do in two hours. He feels so unusually awake after having spent most of the night doing everything _but_ sleeping, and he knows it's because Lucy is about as addicting and awakening as any form of caffeine could be.

"Yes, ma'am?" he asks playfully as he begins to slide the straps of her slip back off her shoulders.

"We don't have time for this," she tells him, but it's about as half-hearted as an observation can get, and within minutes he has her bare, spread out for him on the rumpled bed, and he makes her scream his name again.

Hopefully Rufus will have the decency to not walk in on them this time.

 **2018**

As they emerge from the Lifeboat, Wyatt feels for the first time that the Silo isn't a jail or a cage because all he needs is there with him. Even when Flynn walks into the mess area, as smug as ever, it doesn't take long for Lucy to talk him down from his rage. He has her, and not even Flynn is going to ruin this.

While Denise and Connor take Flynn to be debriefed, Wyatt and Lucy sneak off into the bunker where they had been so close to beginning this just a couple weeks before. He definitely prefers this atmosphere. They're no longer scared, not as much as they had been anyway. Lucy has been able to come to grips more now with all that she endured. Their refuge is in each other now. He hasn't felt like his smile would tear through his cheeks in years, but that's the way she makes him feel. Blissful. Giddy. Any word for just pure joy.

She playfully pushes him onto the bed and straddles his hips. He quirks an eyebrow in intrigue, but before she can lead this anywhere, he reaches up and pulls her to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her back. 1941 had been the most amazing experience for him in… what felt like forever, but in this instance he just needs to hold her. Her face burrows into the crook of his neck and it's _home._ He feels tears begin to prick at his eyes. He never thought he would be this happy again. He knows he doesn't deserve it, but here is this indescribable woman, who might just love him. Love him with all his baggage, all his scars, all his ghosts. She must have heard him sniff a little because she eases up just enough to look him the eyes.

"Wyatt?" It's been a couple years, and it's been hundreds of years, and he knows what she's asking, so he answers:

"Lucy."

" _ **It's been an ugly day," she said. "Tell me something beautiful." And he said her name.**_

A/N: Sorry if that was super cheesy, but I couldn't help but think of all the ways Lucy has said his name, and how it would have been different before and after Hollywood, and it's also my prefered ending!


End file.
